Slumber

The soul does slumber on this Sunday.

This day which has lasted a year now.

I’ve never quite come over the hurt,

Which was caused by your honest assessment of our reality.

I can’t find the beauty anymore. She alludes me.

I cant find the energy which was once made within me. 

My pain has been more real than the desire to feel otherwise. 

And this is the closest to poetry I can contrive.

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